


Hold Me Close (and Sing Softly)

by samii_senpai



Series: Forgot to Remember series [3]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Bad Thoughts, Dreams and Nightmares, Dreams vs. Reality, Emotional Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, If you thought Loki was sad the first time, It's rated M because i wanted to be safe, Loki - Freeform, Loki has a panic attack, M/M, Memory, Panic Attacks, Poor Loki, Post-Ragnarok, Sort of happy ending, Thor - Freeform, angsty, hahaha, im writing my own cannon, kinda fluffy ending i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-31 15:40:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12684831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samii_senpai/pseuds/samii_senpai
Summary: When he heard it first, he could not believe it.“King Oden has requested you be informed of Queen Frigga’s death.” A messenger came to tell him very plainly. He was a pudgy, balding man and his eyes held an ugly look of disdain which alluded that he did not believe Loki deserved to know this information.----Loki dreams of his mother's death.(Warning: Panic attacks)





	Hold Me Close (and Sing Softly)

**Author's Note:**

> Bahhh~  
> I don't know what to say about this one.  
> It's sad.
> 
> Thanks and enjoy

When he heard it first, he could not believe it.

               “King Oden has requested you be informed of Queen Frigga’s death.” A messenger came to tell him very plainly. He was a pudgy, balding man and his eyes held an ugly look of disdain which alluded that he did not believe Loki deserved to know this information.

               Loki only blinked back, not understanding the words coming from the fat man’s chapped mouth. He was making no sense. Surely, he should need to clarify himself.

               But, even as the silence stretched between them, the fat man did not say anything more. He just glared at him through the glowing wall of his cage.

               The longer this went on, the more Loki felt himself needing to form some sort of response, as it seemed to be what the man was required to wait for. For all his crafty wit, the only thing he could think to say was: “What?”

               This did not please the fat man. He huffed out his annoyance with a roll of his eyes. “Has the time in here made your brain slow?” He asked, “Queen Frigga is dead. Murdered. Yesterday in her chambers.”

               Loki tried his best to absorb this, but the words seemed like oil to his water. Fear mixed with something more violent brewed beneath his skin. He tried to cap it. He could feel his heartbeat in his throat as he asked again for clarification, “I don’t believe I understand. Are you—”

               “I will waste no more time with this. Your insistence to misunderstand mocks the Queen.” Loki felt the words like a slap. The fat man continued unkindly, with words meant to wound. “Tonight we will hold vigil, but, for obvious reasons, you will not be allowed to attend.”

               _Obvious reasons._

               In the wake of his statement, the room around them seemed to still. It was the innate calm before the storm. The fat man smirked as his cowardly barb hit its mark. The guards at the door looked shocked by the man’s crass speech and horrified as to how Loki would react as they watched the scene unfold with widened eyes.

               Loki himself was floundering. He tried to find purchase in a world tipped on its axis.

               Turning sharply to the men at the door, he found himself hoping against all hope that this would be a lie. Instead, saw the words confirmed on their faces.

               That violent something which he had attempted to subdue, rose up in a crescendo with such a force that scared even himself. It came down, crashing on him with the strength of towering waves. It clouded around all of his senses. Black spots swam around his view.

               _No!_ Inside he hissed and raged.

There was a roaring in his ears. He could hear nothing but the steady drum of his heart. The pounding grew louder and louder. He clamped his eyes shut and covered them with his hands.

               Then he was screaming. No, he was _shrieking_. He opened his eyes and watched the horror-filled shock forming on that disgusting man’s face, and on the faces of the men behind him, but he could not enjoy it. He bared his teeth, _hissing_ as he pounded his hands on the field trapping him. The magic of them burned his hands, but his frantic mind barely registered the pain. He threw his fists against it. The only thought in his mind was to _kill this man._

The messenger could stand no more of the terrifying display as Loki’s killing intent bled into the air around all of them. Fearfully, he turned on his heels and ran from the room, looking as if he was about to piss himself. Loki screamed after him, still pounding against his prison. When he could no longer see him, he turned his rage to the guards at the door.

               They did not seem to startle as easily. Though they were afraid, the eyes with which they regarded him were filled with something close to sympathy. Loki _hated_ it. Both of them turned their faces from the degrading scene.

               Loki did not stop. He could not. He roared. He moved to the centre of his prison, his entire being vibrating with tension. He took an unsteady hold of the chair his mother had brought here for his comfort and sent it flying against the boundary of his cage with a resounding _crack_. He moved on shaking limbs with a strength he had never before felt capable of. Everything his path was tossed over and thrown. Nothing was left upright, all the furnishings tossed aside, shards of a vase littered the floor along with stamped flowers and fruits, his hands singed and bloody from punching at the walls.

               Loki curled in on himself and his magic lashed out. It was a result of his chaos. He could think of nothing past the destruction of everything around him. Wayward magicks tore through the small space as Loki poured out his grief. In the climax of it all, his cage shook and faltered, but did not break and when the last of the magic faded Loki crumpled against the wall unable to move any longer.

               Everything was motionless in the impossible quiet that followed such a display.

               As the fever cooled from his mind, he looked around at what he had done.

               Every gift, every token from his mother, was destroyed. He had ruined it all. It lay around him in broken piles on the floor. And it was not just the room. The tumultuous magic that had been swirling around in such enclosed space mere moments before had torn his clothes and left him wounded. Every part of his body hurt, most especially his head which had not stopped pounding since his outburst began.

               His mother was dead.

               He was not allowed to mourn her at the vigil.

               He wept.

               This was all his fault. He had killed his mother, he knew it. The man he let pass, the one he gave directions, had gone to his mother’s chambers and murdered her and it was _all his fault_. He did not deserve to mourn her when it was by his doing she was dead.

               _She must have been so disappointed in me. In what a disgusting son she had._

His mind, with no one left to fight, attacked him ruthlessly.

               _She must have known it was me who sent him. She must have died hating her stupid son._

_Mother, forgive me._

It was with this last thought he was drifting off into delirium, mind too exhausted to sustain itself any longer. A whisper came from the door.

               “You did not deserve what he said to you. I’m sorry for your loss.”

               .

               .

               And then he was gone.

\------

                             

               Shaking from head to toe, he snapped upright in his bed. Loki’s hands grasped tightly in the sheets as he sucked in unsteady breaths. The light silk felt wet to his touch, same with the place where he had just lain. Every inch of him was covered in sweat.

               The scene around him was much too soft for what he felt inside. Moonlight illuminated the space in silver, shining through each of the room’s many windows and bouncing around off the marble floor. The open archway leading out to the balcony helped usher in the light as well, and alongside it came the cool, nighttime summer air that was chilling his overheated skin. It blew in gently, lightly tussling the sheer drapes as it went. Besides this, everything else was still as the world continued to sleep on undisturbed.

               The peaceful scene did nothing to calm the chaos within Loki. He pressed a hand to his bare chest, blunt nails scraping against slick skin. It felt tight. Much too tight to breathe. Tears gathered, unbidden, in the corners of his eyes and, into his hand, he released a first, choked off sob.

               It had not been a dream, but a memory and waking up did not change reality.

               Once the tears began they would not stop. They were a release of his emotion and he was defenceless to their furiosity. They flowed, fat and wet, in rivers down his already soggy cheeks. Dripping from his chin and collecting in his lap. His nose grew stuffed and ran, and his hitching breath sounded too loud in the face of the noiseless night. But he could not stop. The longer it went on, the more forceful his despair seemed to become. It went on like this for some time, until a careful hand came to rest upon his shoulder.

               He jumped, startled. In all his crying, he had not noticed Thor wake. He had sat up on the bed and was facing him, his nude form glowing in the light of the room. One of his large hands stayed fixed on Loki’s shoulder while the other reached for his face, wiping at the tears he found there. Thor’s concerned eye roamed over him as he searched him for issue.

               Loki was struck with embarrassment to be seen this way. It was a blow his pride would apparently not allow. Still sobbing, Loki pushed at Thor’s hands as he tried to hide himself from view. Try as he might to remove them, he could not. His attempts were weak from grief and Thor resisted easily. Instead, he brought Loki closer, pulling him into his lap. Growling in outrage, Loki only struggled harder. He pushed and clawed and bit, but Thor’s grip did not falter.

               “Brother, cease.” He murmured into damp skin. He placed a kiss.

               But, Loki felt as though he had lost control of himself once again. Memory running into reality, blurring the lines. Growling and crying, he was a mess and he banged his fists against Thor who resigned himself to the treatment. His heart felt heavy with fellow feeling. He began to run gentle fingers through Loki’s sweat-damp hair as he mumbled softly whispered verses under his breath from a song that their mother used to sing.

“

The sky is dark and the hills are white  
As the storm-king speeds from the north to-night;  
And this is the song the storm-king sings,  
As over the world his cloak he flings:  
"Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep;"  
He rustles his wings and gruffly sings:  
"Sleep, little one, sleep."  
  
On yonder mountain-side a vine  
Clings at the foot of a mother pine;  
The tree bends over the trembling thing,  
And only the vine can hear her sing:  
"Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep;  
What shall you fear when I am here?  
Sleep, little one, sleep."  
  
The king may sing in his bitter flight,  
The pine may croon to the vine to-night,  
But the little snowflake at my breast  
Liketh the song I sing the best, ---  
"Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep;  
Weary thou art, anext my heart;  
Sleep, little one, sleep."

“

               When he made it through to the end, he started again, and it was around the middle of the second recital that Loki’s crying quieted to sniffles.

               “It sounds weird when you say it.” Loki remarked.

               The light observation seemed to release the tension between them. Thor let out a laugh. It felt weird to him as well to say the words his mother use to.

               Neither man spoke for a long while after, both taking solace in the other. Thor didn’t need to ask what Loki had dreamed of, for he knew it well himself. The new king took long, steady breaths as he held his love close to his chest. Loki’s cold fingers were placed lightly against Thor’s warm ribs as his breath evened to match.

               “Thank you.”

               It was whispered so quietly, if there had been any noise in the room at all Thor would not have heard it. Lying back on the bed, he kissed the top of Loki’s head in way of response and held on to him tighter.

               Slowly, slowly, they drifted back to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> The poem was written by Eugene Field.  
> It's called Norse Lullaby.


End file.
